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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24082195">A Vibrant Dream</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttercup_yellow/pseuds/buttercup_yellow'>buttercup_yellow</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Human Sebastian Michaelis, I give O!Ciel a name, Low Fantasy?, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sebastian Michaelis as the Main Character, but it's kinda canon, could be considered, except they're all kids, it's found family innit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 03:07:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,087</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24082195</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttercup_yellow/pseuds/buttercup_yellow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>'His were the only footprints in the dirt as he danced around protruding roots and stones.  Kicking up pine needles in a cloud of dust that stuck to his patched trousers and leather boots.  He paused, gazing up at the moon, his hair, black as the night, swaying absently in the midnight breeze.  It was just shy of a full moon that night.  For some other lost soul it may have been comforting, a light in the darkness.  To him was a cold light, and he had come to know that he preferred the indifference of an empty sky many years ago.'</p>
<p>A young homeless boy is nearly crushed under the wheels of a carriage one night, little does he know that the contents of that carriage will change his life forever.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Vibrant Dream</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>A young boy walked briskly along a seldom travelled trail, his hands stuffed in his pockets.  He was thin, but with a softness around his eyes and cheeks that assured any acquaintance that he was still a child, no matter what he proclaimed.  If you were to encounter him on this slender dirt track, you might worry for him, all alone in the middle of the night.  He held no lantern to guide him, nor did his clothes appear to hold back the icy winter breeze.  Most worrying of all, you might think, was the near-vertical drop to his right or the dense woodland on his left.  Pine trees spilled across the path and towered over him, blocking out the dim light, forming an impenetrable void of shadows that threatened to swallow the little boy whole.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You might hurry over, offer a shawl or a jacket, fuss over him and ask where his parents were.  But then you would see his eyes.  Eyes that shone with confidence, experience, devoid of fear.  You would see his boots, two sizes too big with brown stains on the shoelaces, and you wouldn’t dare ask how those stains came to be there.  A glint of metal would catch your eye, hidden beneath his once cream coloured jacket.  Perhaps you would smile sweetly, fearfully gift him some loose pennies or a lollipop you were saving for your little cousin.  Or maybe you would stammer your excuses and hurry away, afraid of the small boy with the big brown eyes that seemed to pull you in and swallow your very essence.  He would watch you go.  His face expressionless, the tips of his ears and nose flushed red from the cold.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As it was, there was no other who traversed the path.  The boy was alone.  His were the only footprints in the dirt as he danced around protruding roots and stones.  Kicking up pine needles in a cloud of dust that stuck to his patched trousers and leather boots.  He paused, gazing up at the moon, his hair, black as the night, swaying absently in the midnight breeze.  It was just shy of a full moon that night.  For some other lost soul it may have been comforting, a light in the darkness.  To him was a cold light, and he had come to know that he preferred the indifference of an empty sky many years ago.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The wind whistled playfully into his ears, tossing his ratty jacket (neatly fastened with mismatching buttons) around his lithe frame.  Leaning into its cold embrace, he listened to its tune - listened to it crack and bend the pine trees overhead.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Carried along by the wind were voices.  Loud, brazen voices that jumped out above the quiet of the countryside.  He swung his head from side to side, suddenly skittish on the lonesome dirt track.  Fumbling in the cold air, he reached into his jacket pocket.  His long fingers obsessively, instinctually wrapped around an old pocket-watch.  He traced the patterns that circled its face, feeling out every dent and inconsistency.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A man’s voice suddenly erupted with laughter, louder and closer than before, accompanied by the stamping of horses and the clattering of a carriage.  This was odd all by itself, people rarely used this path let alone ride carriages down it.  His breathing quickened in panic.  Instinctually he lowered his body, tense and coiled like a spring.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A carriage burst around the corner as though chased from the void.  The boy leapt from the track, but not in time to avoid a solid kick to his side.  The air rushed from his lungs, pain bloomed in his side and he lost sight of the world.  Landing a fair distance from the track, he slid down the steep hill before slowing to a halt, face up on the grass.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When his eyes finally fluttered open, all he saw was a tower of orange smoke against the stars.  Sharp spikes of pain broke through the swirling fog in his mind.  He prodded at his bruising ribs, finding no blood or split skin he struggled back up the hill.  Peeking over the grassy bank on the side of the track he was struck by a wave of heat.  A fire had broken out across the carcass of the carriage, spitting hot embers into the branches of the pine trees it rested against.  He pushed himself off of the ground, a loud bang echoing from the wrecked carriage as the wood split under the heat.  Mindful of the splintering, burning wood, he approached albeit slowly.  Its black paint cracked and curling as the fire burned a path across its body.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The horses, huge creatures that they were, squealed and thrashed against their harnesses.  It was a pitiful sight, and a highly distressing sound to hear.  Their cries pounded at his skull as he stumbled around to the horse’s head.  Reprimands resurfaced from the depths of his memory.  Spoken in a deep, soothing voice, so close, so familiar that he could almost feel the calloused hand sitting heavy on his shoulder.  It quietly but sternly told him that he should never, ever get within reach of a horses’ hooves.  Wincing, he rubbed at his bruised side.  He looked between the horse and the raging fire.  Swiftly reaching his decision, he reached over to pull the harness off.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You!  Weasel!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He sprung backwards, crashing to the ground when his oversized boots folded beneath his feet.  Scrambling further from the voice he dived out of the burning light into the shadows.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuckin’ ‘ell!”  A man - brutish, bruised, covered in blood - heaved his hulking body from the wreckage.  “You!”  The brute hollered, lifting an arm to gesture violently at the spot in the shadows where he had disappeared.  “Yer gonna pay for this ‘ere--ack!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The brute sagged forwards, clutching at the knife that pierced his throat.  He choked and clawed at the boy, fisting his hands into the threadbare jacket.  The younger savagely twisted the knife and ripped away as suddenly as he had arrived.  He watched with eyes glinting red in the firelight as the man drowned in his own blood.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ron?  Ron, what’re you doin’ man!  Get me outta here!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He sucked in a startled breath, eyes darting between the bloodied knife and the brute’s twitching corpse.  He pulled the knife behind his back, impishly trotting backwards from the bloodied body.  He swore under his breath, a nervous smile pulling at his lips.  Swearing again, he fled to the grass bank on the opposite side of the track, where he threw himself flat on his stomach.  A violent shiver wracked his body as he pressed himself closer to the frozen ground.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His clothes, already wet and icy from his earlier tumble down the hill, clung to his body.  Wrenching his thoughts from the panic and the cold, he stared intently at the carriage.  It lurched upwards, once, twice, thrice.  Tossing the dead brute’s body - Ron, it seemed his name had been - to the ground.  From behind and beneath the carriage, another man, leaner, greasier with a lazy eye that stared skyward, crawled into view.  Awkwardly, the man pulled himself up on the side of the carriage, gingerly tapping his right foot on the ground.  Flinching, he kept his weight solidly on his left foot.  Again, he turned and yelled his friend’s name into the open air.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“C’mon Ron, what are yer playin’- Oh shit!”  Lazy-eye swore as he caught sight of his counterpart, blood drying brown in the dirt.  Pulling out a gun he planted his feet firmly on the ground and scanned the area.  He circled the carriage, checking under the wheels and down the hillside, briefly crouching to retrieve a burning chunk of wood to serve as a torch before crouching beside Ron to better examine the corpse.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Not three feet from him, the raven-haired boy had become rather stiff, laid prone in the winter night’s air as he was.  He kept his head down, his knife shielded from the moonlight, and steadied his breath as it stuttered out of him.  Not too long ago, he had been praised as the greatest thief to ever stalk the shadows.  However, it seemed neither luck nor fate agreed, as a big, fat, furry... something scurried across his outstretched legs.  He clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his yelp.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A shot was fired.  It hit the bank less than an inch from his face, throwing soil and shredded grass into the air, showering him in clumps of dirt, worms and a strong scent of sulphur.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He held very, very still.  Just barely peeking out at Lazy-eye through blades of grass.  He squinted, spying Lazy-eye’s hesitant approach, how he was favouring his right leg and clutching his gun like a lifeline.  The boy squeezed the hilt of his knife, subtly sheathing it.  He forced himself to lay limp in the grass with his ear flat on the ground, he listened for the footfalls of his assailant.  Closer and closer they fell until a shadow blocked out the light of the quieting fire.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The barrel of the gun tapped against the back of his throbbing head.  His ears twitched as the gun was cocked, and he moved.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pushing himself into a roll, he narrowly escaped the bullet and launched himself at the gun.  He caught hold of the barrel just as another shot was fired.  He cried out and ripped his palm from the burning heat of the gun, ducking under the man's legs and kicked out at his wounded leg.  Lazy-eye cried out in pain but remained standing.  Taking advantage of the man’s misfortune he dived once more for the gun.  He caught hold of the man’s wrist, twisting his arm and snatching the gun from his grip.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lazy-eye choked on a cry as the gun was pushed under his ribs.  For a moment they simply breathed, both tensed against the quickly fading light of the fire.  The boy shifted his stance, licked his lips and tasted iron, dirt and a thick layer of soot.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s in the carriage?”  He demanded, voice hoarse but thankfully even.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yer a kid!?”  Lazy-eye choked.  The gun pressed harder into the man’s side.  “Alright!  Alright!  It’s just merchandise!  Goods and the like!  Them odd fellas up at the monastery like ‘em delivered quick like!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re alone?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wh-Yeah, it’s just us kid.  Now let’s just, uh, just put down the gun.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t put the gun down.  He didn’t even lower it.  Instead he risked a quick look at the carriage and concluded that despite his injuries he could still turn his night around, but just in case...</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Open it.”  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lazy-eye, hands raised, glanced nervously at the smouldering carriage.  The boy narrowed his eyes and made a point of settling his index over the trigger.  He seemed to get the point, bowing his head and dragging his feet towards the back of the carriage.  Carefully he worked the door open and lowered it to the ground, where it wedged itself in the dirt with a soft thud.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The boy shifted closer, craning his neck to inspect the shadowed innards of the carriage.  “Light it up.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The man crumpled his face in a frown, holding his makeshift torch just inside the doorway.  It revealed a cramped looking space: crates stamped with various company names and logos, bags of what looked like flour piled unceremoniously over them.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The boy, satisfied that the two men had no accomplice hiding in wait, gave Lazy-eye a small smile.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, yer happy now?  How’s about you give us back me gun, eh?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A shot echoed across the hills.  The fresh corpse collapsed in a heap at his feet.  A bullet wound lazily leaking blood from his forehead.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The boy wiped the fine splattering of blood from his face, pushing his tangled hair from his eyes as he did so.  Threading the revolver into his belt, he stood over the bodies and the burnt wood like a parent would stand over their child’s mess; hands on his waist, hip cocked to the side and an utterly defeated look upon his face.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh… Fuck!”  He hissed, realising too little too late that slinking back into the shrubbery with his prize would warrant more than suspicion.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He ran a hand down his face, pressing his palm to his eye and willing the little man who oiled the cogs in his head to wake from his impromptu nap and rescue him from this mess he’d made.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>My sibling told me it was good, so it's their fault not mine.</p>
<p>My Tumblr is @realdemonslovecats</p></blockquote></div></div>
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